there is an occupation, al1110st a professIon." Take the tl ees- we could "contrive to do without trees," but not leaves, Charles-Xavier explains from the piano, still playing, "we lequire th eir decorum that is one of congestion, till lIke Shelley we become lewd vegetarians." Apprehensive about the raIn, I ask Jean to order a closed carriage for Simone. The doctor frowns-a regular visitor these days r -and frightens her, eying Lucie's mushroolns; his diagnosis: toadstools. Scriabin diminishes. Is the dog lost? Jean rushes outside. Punishment of the dog: he is forbidden the strawberry patch. Darker now. One candle is found for the piano, and the music reSUlnes with Debus"y, a little sphere of yello Y in the sopping dusk. The river's surface looks-- is it the rain r -like the sea in shallows; this m0111ent is an instance of the world becoming a mere convenIence, more or less credible, and the old questions rise to our lips-but have we spoken a word?- before we remember, prompted by the weather probably, or the tune of day, that we already kno\\ somethIng we are not new-born, then. What is it that we know? The carriage comes at last, but it is an open carriage, merely hooded. \Ve crowd under, fending off the last drops with a violet golf-umbrella Charles-Xavier has S0111ehow managed for us. A slow cold drive under the trees, Simone balancing the suspect mushrooms in her lap. I tell hLr it is not dangerous; we cannot die, but are in this light or lack of it-trees dripping, the green sky fraudulent- much less individuals than we hope or fear to be. Once home, We shall have a little supper of Lucie's fresh-picked morels. -RICHARD HOWARD . til he produced it did he think of reach- ing for it, and not until his mother began to open her presents with it did he remember that he had pocketed it. All that day, the events seemed to Bruce to work backward from the knife. It was as if all hIstory were bound up with it. And the promise of heat becalne a kept promise, indeed, as they all went horseback riding, and then picnicking on the river, and then to Grandfather's for supper. Between all these diversions, Bruce looked at the flowers, his father looked through them, his tnother looked at Bruce, and Bets and Larry looked at each other. The flowers did not fade. There was nothIng wonderful about this, perhaps, to those who take flowers for granted. Bets and Larry did. Mr. Larcom did. Flowers were not parties or news- . papers. They had no language. They had no sex. "They are just there," Bets said on the river, "to be cut or to be thrown out." Bruce was paddling stern, since he was the heavier of the two, and he could see the dark, so recently braided hair of his sister's glint in the sudden highlights made by the sun as it filtered through the overhanging trees. "But they are pretty," Bruce said. "Not if you have to arrange them." Bruce hated paddling stern. He had never learned to steer. "I love to arrange theIn," he said. "You lost Mother's knife, didn't your" "You knew that when ) ou went looking for it." "What d'you mean?" "I can't eXplain. It's all backward." 33 " B I l e d ' " B . d . ut (I n t, ets Sal , turnIng round. "I didn't know anything." "Look out," he said, but they ran into the bank anyway. The other canoe, with Larry and his father paddling and his mother In the middle, was dis- appearing around a corner. H . d " A . 11 "1 " e saI, re you gOIng to te r "She knows," Bets answered h1111. "Wasn't that one of Tosh's knives we opened the presents with? " "Would she recognize it?" Bruce asked. Brother and sister looked at each oth e r . "If I borrowed his, why would she think I borrowed hers?" Bets shipped her paddle. She was still looking at him. " B k d 1 ." I ecause you poc ete 1IS, s 1e said. "I 111ight have been absent-minded." " y " 1 . d ou were, s 1e sal . "It might have been anyone," he said. "It isn't only a pruning knife, you know. Anyone could of taken it. F " or any reason. " N 1 1 . I ." ot t 1at ear Y In t le mornIng. "Did she know it was there "\ ester- day? " "Did vou " "All right," he said, "it was a silly . " questIon. "I will look for it when we get back," Bets said. "For God's sake, don't," he sdid. "Why?" "I can't explain." "Is there something wrong with you?" "Probably." "I'm trying to help you." "D'you think Mother'll be lnad?" "What do you think? " "No. It's her birthday. But that isn't a reason." "Don't you want me to help you? " He told her about the flowers' fading if there was a search. "But then," he said, "maybe the knIfe has already been found. Maybe Tosh has found it." "But Mother already knows," Bets said. "The search would spoil every- thing," Bruce explained. "The search has already started," Bets said. "I started it. And if you had looked for the knife, you would have started it." She began to push the canoe away from the bank with the paddle. " I ' 11 . h " h . d t S a OVer WIt , S e sal . "You see," Bruce triumphantly said, backing water, "you did know it was me that lost it when you went lookIng for it " " I ' I ." B . d I can t exp aIn, ets sal , pus 1-